


Got Your Finger On The Trigger (But Your Trigger Finger's Mine)

by MistahJay (CassLikesFic)



Series: Gotham's Finest [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cisswap, Collars, Dirty Talk, Edging, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Femme!Joker, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderswap, Leashes, M/M, Makeup, Masc!HarleyQuinn, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Play, Praise Kink, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Voyeurism, vampire gloves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassLikesFic/pseuds/MistahJay
Summary: He'd feel less exposed if he was simply naked.Joker thinks of these things.(A familiar face from GCPD comes to rescue Harley. Harley isn't interested in being rescued.)





	1. You committed, I'm your crime

Harley's collar is a barely-there strip of crimson leather, lined with white fur, but the chain it's hooked to is heavy and dark with hard use. He watches Joker spill the links slowly between her fingers while she talks. He's learning what she likes, what she wants, in the days he's spent at her side. At the moment, she likes having him chained like one of her hyenas. He rests his cheek on her thigh while she toys with his hair, listening to her clowns update her on the state of the city.

His face is painted, lightly enough that it could almost be makeup, delicate and pretty. Smudged red lips, pale pink spots on his cheeks, blue on his lids. The black on his lashes is sure to run in perfect tracks, and he's hoping she'll make him cry, just so it does. Tonight she painted a tiny heart, high on his cheekbone, then smudged it with her thumb.  


He's clothed, barely, in a skintight cropped t-shirt that says "Daddy's Little Monster" across the chest in looping bubble font. Joker's private sense of humor there - he hasn't called her  _ Daddy,  _ not yet. He would if she asked. He'd do almost anything. But she still likes  _ Mister J. _ He's also wearing what might, if you were feeling generous, be called a pair of shorts, the blue and red satin riding high on the curve of his ass. Knee socks complete the outfit, one with a red stripe, one with a blue, and black boots that fit like a second skin. He can feel the cool air on the strips of heated skin the outfit leaves bare. His stomach is exposed, his thighs, the closely shaved skin between collarbone and collar and chin beaded with sweat.

_ "Hold very, very still, pretty boy," she murmured, scraping his stubble away with the blade of a straight razor. He'd bared his throat obligingly, and obeyed. _

He'd feel less exposed if he was simply naked.  


Joker thinks of these things.

Joker's clowns talk over him without seeing him. He could be another unthinking beast, a piece of furniture for all they take notice of him. They're accustomed to ignoring her decadent whims. He feels a hot spike of jealousy, thinking of someone else kneeling here. Joker idly presses a button on a small remote held loosely in her hand, and her lips quirk into a smile when he makes a ragged sound. He drops his head, the chain rattling loudly as the slack hits the floor. He doubles over, his hips jerking of their own accord.

Joker doesn't like blindfolds, gags, or restraints. He's asked for them, and she's considered them, finding more creative ways to achieve the same goals. Why give him a piece of leather to bite down on and moan around? Why take that control away when she could watch him struggle to quiet himself. She places two fingers on his lips and murmurs, "Hush." He bites back the small sounds he's making and stills his hips. She cups his cheek and gives him an approving smile. "It's not  _ so _ bad, is it?" Quinn takes a soft, shuddering breath and shakes his head, pressing his cheek against her leg and closing his eyes.

Her two favorite games are "too much" and "not enough". He's not sure which one they're playing now. He's overstimulated and on edge, but she's barely touched him, and he's not sure she's going to. He knows what she tastes like now, and maybe if he's good, so good at this game, he'll get to use his mouth on her again. He thinks of her kneeling above him and his mouth goes dry with longing.

_ The toy, small and innocuous looking, was on the bed with the clothes she laid out for him along with a terse note in her spiky handwriting: _

Wear this.

_ His fingers were bigger than this small black oblong, and he puzzled over it as he turned it in his hand. It was clearly meant to fit inside, but he didn't feel it once it slipped in, slick and easy. He had forgotten it was there until she had him settled at her feet and lulled with the sound of conversation that didn't concern him. Then she'd done something and pulses of vibration radiated out from it, making him cry out loudly and interrupt her conversation. Joker grabbed a tight handful of his hair, not bothering to look at him, and jerked up, hard. He gritted his teeth, making low, wrecked sounds behind tightly shut lips as the buzzing went on and on. He gasped for air when it abruptly stopped, and she stroked the back of his neck with approval. _

That had been hours ago. Now he's shaking, barely able to keep himself upright on his knees, hugging her calf. His painfully hard cock is trapped against the satin, a damp spot pressed into the fabric stretched over the head. All he can do is kneel there, breathe, and try to be  _ good _ , try to be quiet.

Most of Joker's clowns are just thugs in masks, rough voices and hard soled boots. He sees a parade of fraying denim cuffs in between paralyzing waves of pleasure bordering on pain. The last set of feet retreat and they're alone, and he's shaking. Joker cups his chin with a serious look.

"Someone wants to see you," she says softly, and Quinn struggles to understand the words.

"What- who?" Anxiety clouds his thoughts and features and he sits back on his heels, the chain drawing tight between them. She strokes his hair sweetly.

"I'm not sure, pet. Someone from the police. They have a mask, they're pretending to be one of my clowns. I think they're here to rescue you." He sees concern in her eyes, willingness to let him go if that's what he needs.

"I don't want to be  _ rescued _ ," he spits out angrily, running his fingers possessively over the links of the chain and then covering her hands where they rest on the end. He gazes at her, pleading. "I  _ begged _ to be here."

"I know," she says tenderly. "Do you want to get dressed and tell him yourself?"

He looks down at himself. The costume, the light paint on his face, his position at her feet. He takes in all of it, sees it from an outside point of view, and flushes scarlet. He's a toy, a plaything, a pet. A debauched doll. But more importantly, he's hers. Quinn takes a deep breath, then meets her eyes with defiant fire.

"No. If he wants to be one of your clowns, he can see me like they do. I'll  _ show _ him."

"How far are you comfortable going?" Joker asks, and laughs as he lays out his answer in filthy, eloquent details.


	2. Push My Button Anytime

Of course, the cop to come to his "rescue" would have to be Blake.

Blake, of the GCPD Christmas party fame, who blew him in a supply closet while they were both buzzed enough on watery rum punch to have a good excuse. Blake who’d take any excuse to avoid small talk with officers who had  _ families  _ and  _ lives  _ and nice houses with white picket fences.

Blake, who knew where to bruise where a uniform covers it. Blake who muttered filthy talk under his breath like he was reading a resisting perp their rights while handling them. Blake with long, thick fingers, who had no problem improvising with spit and gun oil. Blake who thought three rough fingers up to the knuckles should just  _ go _ with a good blowjob.  


Who asked “You sober enough to say this is okay?” Who checked his wide eyes and stroked his cheeks gently with thumbs before slamming him against a wall and choking him on his tongue. Blake, who murmured  _ “Be good for me, honey,”  _ in his ear, breathing rum punch and peppermint against his cheek while spreading him wide, spearing him on those fingers. Asking him if he’d return the favor when Quinn’s legs could barely work. Who told him he’d better swallow everything so he didn’t make a mess when Quinn was on his knees, and kissed the taste out of his mouth afterwards.

Blake, who didn’t call afterwards.

Fucking  _ shit _ .

* * *

Of course Blake's staring at him behind a rubber mask, trying to pretend he's one of the Joker's clowns and failing miserably. Blake's got the outfit down, the walk, the talk, and he  _ could  _ be one of Joker's clowns except for one very important difference: He's not even looking at her. He's  _ staring  _ at Harley with his whole body - head and shoulders and feet all pointed at the man at her side. Fucking amateur.

“You might as well take the mask off, detective,” Joker says with a bored, detached air. “You’re not fooling anybody.” Quinn isn’t disappointed when the mask comes off, cheap Halloween rubber stripped away to reveal Blake’s handsome features and hair that looks just as messy as it had at the party that night. She sighs, feigns impatience. “So. You’re here to rescue him?”

“I mean-” Blake says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “...I kinda assumed he wanted to be rescued.” Quinn smiles up at Blake slowly and Blake flushes to the roots of his hair. “...might have to rethink that. I was going on outdated intel.” Joker stands, lets the links of the chain trail out of her fingers, and then puts the end of it in Blakes hand. She pats his shoulder in a placating gesture.

“I’ll let the two of you talk for a bit. The hyenas need feeding.” She bends down and kisses Quinn sweetly, smearing the paint at the corner of his mouth with a fingertip. “Be good,” she says, her smile warm and loving.  


“Anything for you, Mister J,” Harley returns with a content smile, then looks to where Blake is standing. He’s holding the end of a chain like a natural, but he’s staring at it, a little dazed. Joker’s footsteps retreat to the back of the room and Harley can’t help but laugh.

"Quinn-" Blake breathes, and his pupils are dilated, breath a little faster than normal. "What the  _ actual  _ fuck does she have you wearing?" Quinn feels himself falling back into the old cop patter, like stepping back into his ruined uniform.

"Not quite sure. But I  _ like  _ this. It feels good on me," Quinn says with an easy, sharp edged smile. "Sorry to involve you without asking first."  _ I’m not sorry you’re the one who’s here, though. _ Quinn thinks of all the filthy plans he’d detailed to Joker, how far he was willing to go to implicate whatever cop was stupid enough to think he’d need rescuing. If the cop was willing, of course. But if another member of Gotham’s Finest couldn’t appreciate the sight of Harley wrecked and owned and kneeling, fuck ‘em. Let them run back to the top brass and tell them that he doesn’t want a rescue attempt, doesn’t  _ need _ one.

"Nah, it's...fuck, that's a hell of a look on you." Blake sounds  _ more  _ than willing. Quinn can’t keep his grin from spreading wider across his face.

Quinn's voice is amused and conspiratorial, and he quirks his eyebrow in a way he learned from Joker. "You know, you couldn't tell the brass about it if you got  _ involved  _ in the situation. Wouldn't make you look good."

"That's fucking tempting buddy, but...she doesn't look like she shares." Blake shoots Joker a nervous glance, tries not to adjust his obvious erection. Quinn has a pretty good idea of what Blake likes. The thought of two sets of hands on his chain, two different voices telling him to be  _ good _ sends a wave of searing heat through him.

“You’d be surprised,” Quinn says, licking dry lips. “We talked about-” Joker only gave Blake control of the chain, Harley realizes suddenly, as another round of harsh, insistent vibrations start inside him. He can hear her voice at the back of the room, cooing to her hyenas.

“ _ Fuck,” _ Harley grits out raggedly, his confident pose shaken as he jerks like he’s been shocked. “...gimme a sec, Blake- I can’t-  _ oh, fuck.” _ He groans and falls forward on his hands and knees, and since she’s not there to remind him to stay quiet, he doesn’t. Quinn fucks the air, rolling his hips helplessly, and closes his eyes tight so he doesn’t have to see the look on Blake’s face. He’s right on the edge. While he really doesn’t think coming in his pants untouched while Blake watches would be the worst thing in the world, he’d rather be sure of what Blake wants to do about all this. The pulsing vibrations abruptly stop, and he collapses forward onto his elbows with a wrecked groan.

“What just happened?” Blake asks in awe, crouching down to get a hand in Harley’s newly-dyed hair. Red and blue strands twist in his fingers.

“...some kinda toy,” Quinn chokes out with an exhausted smile. “She’s been doing this for a couplea hours off and on and I haven’t- uh.” He feels almost shy, suddenly, with Blake’s fingers carding through his hair, tightening and letting go. He struggles to sit back up on his heels and take a breath. Blake’s hand, still closed around the chain, presses back on his shoulder. He makes Harley sit up straighter so he can see everything - the sweat on his skin, the clear outline of his leaking dick in the satin shorts. Blake tugs on Quinn’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat and making Quinn meet his eyes.

“Haven’t  _ what _ ?” Blake asks. His expression is knowing and heated. Harley thinks about the Christmas party. Thinks about that filthy torrent of promises Blake had murmured in his ear while he’d fucked him on his fingers.

“Come in a few days.”

“Oh, honey.” Blake murmurs with dark eyes. He rests his fingers lightly on Quinn’s throat, thumb brushing the hollow at his collarbone. “I just  _ knew _ you had it in you. Knew you’d be good like this for the right person. Just sorry it wasn’t me.”  


“You didn’t call.”

“Yeah. I’m a dumbass hothead.” Blake gives his hair another sharp tug and Harley’s hips roll of their own accord. “You think she’d let me make it up to you?”


	3. Call Me Cocky, Watch Your tone

They talk for a while, over him, above him, and Quinn just kneels there and listens, Blake’s fingers in his mouth while Joker grips his hair tightly. Blake is fiddling with the remote, curiously, having handed the chain back over to Joker.

“Doesn’t feel right, holdin’ onto this,” Blake says with a wicked smirk. “I mean, he’s clearly  _ yours _ .” Joker laughs brightly, appreciating Blake’s humor, and settles herself back into the chair in the middle of the room.  


“I don’t mind sharing with someone...like minded,” she drawls the last two words out, gesturing to the remote. “Especially someone who understands the situation.” Joker looks from Harley to Blake, gaze sharp, calculating. “I get the feeling you two have some shared history.”  


“Hell of a Christmas party. The one I let get away,” Blake says distractedly, pressing a button on the remote. Quinn jerks in Joker’s grip. “ _ Fuck _ , he makes pretty noises. This is clever.” He wiggles the remote at her with an appreciative nod. Joker brushes the corner of Harley’s mouth where he’s frantically gasping around Blake’s fingers.

Blake lets Quinn hang on the sensation, not playing with speeds or pulses. Just hard, fast, intense, unrelenting. His fingers press down on the back of Harley’s tongue, stifling the noise. “You can’t come yet, honey. Not ‘til she says you can. You just be good.”  


“He won’t last,” Joker comments, eyeing Blake narrowly.

“Sure he will,” Blake returns, and watches Harley ride it out, shaking, hands tightening into fists at his knees. “Bite down a little. You’ll feel better.” Harley makes a choked sound of denial and tries to shake his head, his eyes fluttering shut. He can feel his orgasm like the drag of Joker’s razor at his throat. Not close enough to draw blood but there, there,  _ there _ , scraping over his pulse point again and again. Blake leaves the toy on long enough that even Quinn isn’t sure about Blake’s conviction that he won’t come, just from this, with both of them commenting on every expression on his face, every twitch of his body.

Blake switches the remote off and Quinn sags, shuddering. “There? See. Sometimes you gotta push him a little.” Harley shudders at the sound of Blake telling Joker how she should play her own games.

“I didn’t plan on having you fuck him,” Joker muses with narrowed eyes, watching Blake slip his fingers out of Quinn’s mouth, smearing the paint at the corner of his lips further. Her voice is smooth, silky, and cold. He can hear Blake’s blood in it. “But I’m learning things from you.”

“I like women too. Happy to, uh, provide whatever lesson you want.” Joker laughs, low and dangerous, and the sound sends an aftershock through Quinn that makes him gasp.

“Oh, Detective, I’m  _ certainly  _ not planning on having you fuck me. Not when I’ve seen how  _ you  _ work.” Joker’s grip eases in Harley’s hair, and she gently caresses the nape of Harley’s neck with her fingers. “But you seem good for Harley. For now.”

“Harley, huh?” Blakes eyes dart down to Quinn, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a sardonic smile. “So that’s what the H on your badge stands for.”  


“Shut the fuck up, Blake," Quinn gasps hoarsely with a laugh, throat rough from Blake’s fingers. He’s not sure if it’s in protest of the teasing, or a warning for him.

“Don’t mouth off, honey," Blake chides with a smile like a knife’s edge. “Just ‘cause there’s two of us now to make you pay for it.” His eyes flick back to Joker’s face. “You ever hit him?”

“No need.” There’s the rasp of fabric as Joker crosses her legs, the suit creasing in just the right places. “We’re still in a breaking in period. Learning about each other.”  


“I think you should. He can take a little rough treatment. Probably would sing with it. I know the type. You turn that thing back on and give him one hard slap, those shorts are done.” Blake punctuates his words with a tender, open handed pat to Harley’s cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it hurts like a broken promise. He makes a helpless noise and presses his lips together tightly to choke it off.

“Takes one to know one, Detective?” Joker murmurs, deadly and knowing.

“If someone can make me. Haven’t met my match yet.” Joker hums thoughtfully in response to that, makes a soft, noncommittal noise. “Surprised I’m wearing a uniform and not my own kooky costume?” Joker doesn’t laugh at  _ kooky _ , but Blake carries on without noticing. “I keep all my weird in the bedroom. Don’t need to be robbing banks or ripping off furs to have a good time.”

“Your loss, Blake. You’re  _ delightful. _ ” The tone in that word drags an icy fingertip down Harley’s spine. For just a moment, he’s scared for Blake. “I could use a man like you,” Joker says evenly. “I wouldn’t give him to just  _ anybody _ , but I think it would be amusing to see you take him apart.” Harley shivers all over. There are fantasies he’s shared with her, in the languid dark in her bed, detailed responses to soft, probing questions. He didn’t think this would ever happen, and he’s shivering and terrified and so goddamn excited that slap or no slap, he’d come if one of them would just take the time to fucking tell him to.

He imagines being traded back and forth between them, a day as an officer at Blake’s mercy, a week as Joker’s doll. He’s overwhelmed and suddenly so afraid of being let go of. Traded away for good, or getting neither, of both them walking away together, leaving him behind. The shivering turns to shakes. Suddenly he’s burying his face against Joker’s leg with quiet, muffled sounds. What if he’s dreaming, and he’s going to wake up alone in that cold, empty apartment, no one’s hands but his own on him?

He comes back into himself to both their voices, Joker’s full of tender threats and Blake’s burnt-honey sweet and solicitous. Blake’s strong arms are wrapped around him, his weight pressed firmly against his back, and Joker is gently stroking his face, his throat, her touch strong and grounding. She’s wiping tears from his skin while Blake rocks him gently. She’s using a piece of green silk, her pocket square, and his breath hitches again and again when he sees the ruined black paint on it.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, don’t give me away, please- _

“-got you, honey. We didn’t forget you, just planning on how to treat you right. Don’t you worry, don’t worry. You’re good. So good,” Blake murmurs, the prickle of his stubble comforting behind Harley’s ear. Harley tries to pull away, to test the strength of those words.  _ We’ve got you _ . Blake doesn’t let him go, arms tightening, and Harley is soothed, restrained, settles into both their touches with a shuddering sigh. “See, this is why sometimes restraints are good. Too much responsibility, and they’ll get all nervy. Too in their own heads.”

Joker gentles Harley with the silk, stroking it down his throat, over his lips and cheeks until his breathing steadies out, a soft, understanding smile on her painted lips. Blake’s voice continues, gentle, dark. “You get too worried about being good, and all those thoughts sneak up about what if you’re bad. Don’t listen to those, honey.”

“I’m not letting you go, pet. I’m just making sure that you’re going to be hurt in all the right ways.” Harley shivers again, and this time, he melts into that promise like sinking into a warm bath.  


“I need-” He says hoarsely, clears his throat, tries again. The words fail him. “...I need...” It trails off, comes out as a broken question.  


“I know,” Joker answers softly. “Hold him tighter,” she snaps at Blake. Blake takes to the command easily, repositions Harley in his arms, the bar of his arm tight across Harley’s chest. His palm covers Harley's throat, thumb resting in front of his ear. Joker’s using Blake like just another toy now. And Harley’s pinned, legs spread wide over one of Blake’s thighs, facing Joker who kneels before him. His shoulders and thighs ache from the stretch. He’s sticky with sweat and tears and precome. He didn’t realize that  _ too much  _ and  _ not enough _ could be played at the same time. Joker turns the toy on as high as it will go, tosses the remote to the side, and strikes Harley hard across the face. He feels punishment and love and certainty in the sharp, stinging contact, the combination exactly what he needs.

He sees stars and Heaven, comes between them with a grateful sob ripped from his lips. The fabric trapping his cock is wet with pulsing warmth. The sting of the slap is already fading, leaving him feeling warm and reassured. He can trust that they’ll keep their word.

“Told you so,” Blake says smugly.

“You’re definitely going to fuck him,” Joker says, sounding almost impressed with the man.


	4. You Just Crossed The Line

Blake fucks Quinn until he’s whimpering, and Joker watches it all, a detached, mildly interested expression occasionally crossing her face. She lit a cigarette when he slicked up three fingers and had Quinn pinned to the floor, making sweet, helpless moans. Spreading him wide without touching him anywhere else - except for the hand between Quinn’s shoulder blades, keeping him in place. Blake fucks like someone who loves back alley fights, like someone who enjoys the taste of his own blood in his mouth from lips knocked into teeth. He gives Quinn all the burnt sugar tasting, willing violence that had Quinn gasping for him months ago. Quinn’s back and sides are marked with red scratches, vivid bites, splotches that will bloom into purple bruises.

Blake hasn’t gotten a _ please _ out of Quinn once.

Joker looks unimpressed.

Blake snaps his hips sharply, driving deep, making Quinn’s hands scrabble for purchase on the rug covering the concrete floor in front of her chair. Blake smirks, and she flicks ash off the end of her cigarette, exhales a stream of blue smoke. Quinn cries out and arches his back when Blake drags the head of his cock over that sweet spot inside. Joker looks almost bored. God, he knew Quinn’d be tight and sweet, but he didn’t think Joker was going to be right there watching over his shoulder the whole time. Critiquing his technique without speaking.

It cools the heat in his stomach just enough that he pays a little more attention to the body bent under his. He trails his mouth over Harley’s skin, placing soft kisses over the bruises on Quinn’s shoulders that earn him a shuddering sigh. He can still feel Joker’s eyes on his skin, and his cock twitches. He tightens his hands on Quinn’s hips and takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

“Having some trouble?” Joker asks softly. He can hear the crackle of her cigarette as she inhales.

“Just a little distracted.” Blake wets dry lips, opening his eyes to glance at her. She smiles, painted lips bright and deadly.

"Would you like a turn with _ me _, Detective?" Oh god, the spike of heat that threatening smile and cool words send through him make his hips twitch, burying himself deeper in Quinn with a low groan.

"Gentle touches and soft threats don't do much for me." He wouldn’t make a good pet, anyway. If Harley’s a pampered lapdog, Blake’s a feral alleycat - more likely to bite and scratch than melt into a soft, petting hand. Blake eyes Joker with distrust, rolls his hips in a languid motion that makes Quinn breathe out _ fuck, please _ under him. Blake feels a hot spark of triumph, rolls his hips slowly again. Slow and deep makes Harley beg, and that's what Blake gives him. He feels a prickly, defiant sting somewhere under his ribs. He can be just as good at this. Joker smiles wider, genuine pleasure at Harley's pleas. _They're _both_ playing you, Blake._

"Whatever made you think I considered _ you _ harlequin material, Blake? I'm only careful with things I already _ own _." Blake shudders and closes his eyes, that quiet statement rubbing against the inside of his mind like velvet. She’s tall, lean. Strong. Absolutely, dangerously, unpredictable. She could make him do anything, if he’s willing to let her. He sucks in a ragged breath, and Joker adds low and deadly, "Don't come inside him."

"Don't think that's up to you, sweetheart," Blake grits out. Fuck it, it’s an engraved invitation to have her beat his ass. It’s been too long since he mouthed off to the right person and came home with an aching body and a quiet mind. She tosses her cigarette aside. He watches the embers scatter on the concrete. Then she’s on him, and he doesn’t even have the time to decide if he’s going to apologize or double down.

Blake’s never had anyone fulfill the deadly promise of a hand on his throat the way she does, lightning fast. Joker's grip is tight enough, his head forced cruelly back. His hips come to a stuttering halt and she narrows her eyes with a cruel, pleased smile. He can still breathe just fine, but her fingers are punishing and cruel and it feels _ so _good.

"I rather think it is, _ Detective _." She jerks her chin at him. “Well? Don’t stop.” Joker makes a fist in his short hair, tugs it back so that she’s looming over him, bending his body back into her grip. “You’re going to make Harley come now, because he’s been good and patient."

“And then?” Blake asks, cocky, taunting. She squeezes just a little harder and he does gasp for breath then, walking that dangerous line. His scalp is burning. If he had to choose between whether to keep his dick in Quinn’s ass or keep her hand on his throat, Blake realizes he’d choose that merciless hand.

“Then I’ll give you what you’re asking for.”

All he can see is her smile. He shudders with the promise, wraps a slick hand around Quinn’s dick, and gets to work.


	5. You're Italic, I'm In Bold

Joker makes him wait until Harley is settled. It gives Blake time to breathe, to think about if he really wants this, and  _ fuck.  _ Yeah, he does. They clean Harley up together, Joker murmuring soft praise while stroking the mess off Harley with her silk pocket square. Blake almost feels a pang of jealousy when Joker peels out of her suit jacket and wraps Harley up in it, kissing him tenderly. She murmurs something low in his ear that makes Harley laugh, and he shakes his head with a sleepy smile and a half slurred, “Just different,” in response.

They’re talking about him. Blake twists on it and grits his teeth, heart pounding.

Joker gives him another deadly smile as she strokes Harley’s hair, voice tender and soothing.

“I have to hurt Blake now.” She murmurs, kissing Harley’s forehead. “Feel free to help.”

“You don’t  _ have _ to.” Harley watches Blake through half-lidded eyes, and that gaze goes through him like a knife. He’d break if she was this tender with him after promising such sweet violence. It’d be the worst punishment of all, getting only a taste of what she can do, then sent away with a sweet kiss and a cuddle.

“Don’t be cruel, sweet boy. That’s my job.”   


“You really gonna hurt me?” Blake asks, wetting his lips with his tongue and taking a step back from the chair.

“That seems to be what you want.” Joker answers easily, her eyes flickering over his clothes. She steps up to him, and he holds his ground. Her hand is in his hair again, tight and hard, making his scalp ache. It goes straight to his dick, and he moans low for her. She searches his face, chases the line of his jaw with a hard nail. “You don’t want a home, you want a cage with bars you can throw yourself against that will actually hold you fast. You’re going to get yourself killed one day, Blake, if you don’t find the right outlet for all that  _ anger _ .”

“Yeah,” Blake breathes, agreeing with her. He struggles a little, just to feel that grip tighten, feel her nails dig in on his face. It feels  _ good _ and  _ right _ . It feels like playing with matches on the edge of a rooftop in the middle of a dry summer.   


“When you say stop, I stop. If your mouth’s full, you slap the floor twice,” she tugs harder on his hair, makes him wince. “Look at me. Say it.”

“I say stop, you stop," he repeats, his eyes on hers. She digs her thumbnail into the soft spot behind his ear, and he shudders. “If my mouth’s full, I slap the floor twice.” She lets go of his hair and  _ shoves _ , and Blake drops like a puppet with cut strings. He glances to the chair Quinn’s draped over, and finds his friend watching him intently, cheek pillowed on folded arms. Quinn’s gaze is not sweet and soft. It’s as intent as Joker’s. Blake thinks about Joker using Quinn to hurt him, and shudders all over.

“What to do with you, Blake?” She muses quietly, stepping around him in a slow circle. He watches her bare feet strike the floor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“You think you’re gonna put me in booty shorts and makeup, you’re crazy,” Blake spits out, unable to help the crooked grin that crosses his face. Joker slaps it off him with one hard, backhanded strike that rocks him back on his heels. His face is stinging, every nerve in his body lit up with white fire. Joker crouches down in front of him, her hands back in his hair, baring his throat for her.

“The next time,” she says, her tone like a hammer being cocked back, “You  _ ask  _ for what you want. Nicely.”   


“God, do that again,” Blake groans, his eyes falling closed, tipping his head back into her grip. “ _ Please. _ ”

“No,” Joker laughs, and the sound of it echoes over the concrete walls. “Strip, Blake. You’re not the one in charge any more.”   


Blake shrugs out of his clothes and tosses them in a messy pile, not particularly caring what happens to them or him. He lets his fingers linger over his belt before coiling it neatly, setting it on top. Joker looks at him like an abandoned amusement park she’s thinking about moving into. She just looks, for a long, long time. She circles slowly, doesn’t touch. He’s comfortable naked, but this examination stings in a different way than the slap did.

“I don’t know if you’re worth it,” she says eventually, fishing her cigarettes and a lighter out of her pocket and lighting up another. He’s jealous of the way it rests between her lips. “You’re loud, Blake. You’re mouthy, ill mannered, and you like writing checks that your ass can’t cash,” she puts her foot in the center of his chest and pushes back, hard, and he winds up flat on his back. Her heel digs into his sternum, pressing him back into the floor. “Why should I give you what you want?”

“Because I can take it,” Blake says shakily, fighting for air around the pressure of her foot.

“That doesn’t make you special.”

“Because I want to.”

“Again, not convincing.”   


“Because I’ll say yes to almost anything you ask me, if you do.” Blake feels like he’s scrabbling to get purchase on ice, trying to find a good enough reason. He’s clutching at straws, he wants this so badly and he wants her to be the one to give it to him. “...because I’ll say yes with a  _ smile _ .”

“I can work with that,” she says softly. “Harley? Come hold Blake down.”


	6. Chapter 6

Quinn’s hands are rough and firm, pinning Blake’s crossed arms to the floor above his head. At this angle, all Blake can see is the lean line of Quinn’s body, and he doesn’t terribly mind. To be fair, he didn’t think his rescue attempt would end on his back, being pinned to the floor by a naked cop only wearing makeup, a collar, and a too-large crimson suit jacket, but...he’s had worse nights.

Quinn gives Blake an easy smile, mouthing the word “hi,” with his painted lips. He tightens his hands enough that Blake can feel Quinn’s fingers against the bones in his wrists. Blake squirms against his hold, but Quinn knows what he’s doing. Blake’s not going anywhere. Joker’s footsteps retreat and Blake shifts again, restlessly. 

“She doesn’t keep much in here,” Quinn says, by way of explanation. “She’ll be back.” Blake groans and lets his head rest against the concrete.  _ She doesn’t keep much? What’s she getting? What is she going to do to me? _ So strange, so unknown, tension coiling in his gut in a tight knot. Blake wets his lips and exhales slowly.

“She doesn’t do this to you?” Blake thinks about how  _ gently _ Joker touches Quinn, and of course she doesn’t. She’s cruel in different ways to him. Nothing so simple and uncomplicated as what Blake's asking for.

“I don’t need the same things you do," Quinn answers. His face is almost close enough to kiss, and Blake considers breaking the hold, grabbing him, fucking him again now that it’s just the two of them without a chaperone. Quinn’s words sink in and Blake feels more exposed than simple nudity. He shivers again, tries to deny it.

“I don’t  _ need _ this, I just...”  _ want it. Crave it. Give it to others so I don't have to ask for it. _

“You’d hate what she does to me, Blake.” Quinn gives him a knowing look along with those words. Blake thinks of those tender, soft touches, being kept on edge for fucking  _ days. _ He’s already coming unraveled just being denied after fucking Quinn. He wouldn’t like it at all, it’s too complicated a game. You know where you are with a bruise. Quinn shifts his wrists to a one-handed grip so he can run a fingertip over the red spots on Blake's throat.

“I don’t want to be kept,” Blake snaps, groaning when Quinn adds bite to the touch with his nails. At that, Quinn chuckles softly.

“I had to  _ beg _ her to keep me, don’t worry.” Quinn strokes his thumb slowly along the inside of Blake’s forearm. “She’s never hurt me before. I liked the slap, it was a good suggestion. But that was for you, not me.”

“Your loss,” Blake chokes out, groaning low as Quinn rakes his nails sharply down the left side of his throat.

“You really like this,” Quinn muses quietly, eyeing Blake’s swollen cock. Blake twitches his hips and groans again in frustration. Being pinned just isn’t enough. Quinn would do just fine for a quick hard fuck, if Blake wasn’t waiting for what’s coming to him at Joker’s hands.

“Yeah, I really do.” 

“Whatever she does to you, it’s going to  _ hurt _ .” 

“I’m counting on it, honey,” Blake lets his eyes close and sighs softly.

He doesn’t see what Joker returns with. Quinn is busy raking nails and rough fingers over his throat and chest, keeping him on edge and distracted. Blake knows the sound of a cap opening very well, however, and he squirms again, resisting Quinn’s grip.

“Hey-” he breathes out raggedly, not quite in protest, when he feels the cool slick slide of a fingertip teasing over his hole.

“Something to say, Detective?” Joker asks quietly, and her finger presses in, just very the tip, slowly testing.

“Wasn't planning on having anyone fuck me today." It’s been a while since he’s been on that side of the equation, although Blake likes it when he can get it. He doesn’t like the soothing care that always seems to go along with it, the gentle approach with lots of lube and checking in.  _ One-finger two-fingers slow-dick  _ rhythm, too concerned and careful. Easier to be on top than ask for what he wants. Joker’s hand retreats and his hips shift, chasing after that questing touch again.

“Has anything gone according to your plan today?” There’s laughter in her voice and a hot flush of embarrassment rolls over him. 

“Nah, but it’s still been fun,” he says with a breathy laugh, then cries out when she spears him deep on two fingers, no preamble. The burning stretch is breathless and inescapable, and he swears when she spreads her fingers wide and pushes in deeper. He pants for breath, shifts into and then away from her touch. Blake gives Joker the smile he promised her, although it's tight around the edges. "Fuck it,  _ yes _ , getting fucked sounds great,  _ please _ . But, uh…" Blake glances up at Quinn, whose body is still quiet and sated above him.

"Oh, Harley's not going to be the one fucking you," Joker laughs and twists her fingers inside him, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust that makes him gasp. "You're not in control here, Blake. Stop trying to plan things."

"Fucking  _ God _ ," Blake swears again, rocking his hips and spreading his legs to try and ease the stretch.

"I prefer Mister J, if you're looking for a name to call me." Joker smirks and curls her fingers up, grinding against his prostate, and Blake's vision goes white. 

"I think he can take four," Quinn says, sounding too calm and certain for Blake’s taste. Doesn’t help that he’s probably right, although it’s been a while. Even two fingers without that slow warmup are riding that edge of painful pleasure.

"Do you, pet?"

"People show you what they like. Three's his favorite number. Like he said, sometimes you gotta push a little." Blake could  _ murder  _ Quinn, but Quinn has his hands pinned, so he's not going anywhere. Joker adds another finger and Jesus  _ fuck _ , the pressure has him writhing and making high, helpless sounds he really doesn’t want anyone to hear.

"Don't whine, Detective. You can take a little rough treatment. Guy like you'd probably  _ sing _ with it,” Joker chides back to him. His own words echo in his ears as she spreads him wider, knuckles deep, not particularly slow or careful. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“No,” Blake wets lips gone dry, sucks in a ragged breath, and hisses, “I want it  _ harder. _ ”


	7. Chapter 7

Breaking Harley is like solving a Rubik's Cube. Breaking Blake is as simple as turning a key in a lock. 

Joker can appreciate simplicity.

Blake is stretched wide and tight around the cock she chose - hard and unyielding, thicker than what she usually likes to fuck Harley with. It’s a lot even with careful prep, and Blake is struggling to take it. He likes the struggle, and she likes watching him struggle.

"You're so beautiful like this." Joker says, because she's buried deep in his body, because Blake isn't going anywhere. Because she can. She slows down, cups his face, smiles. There are lots of ways to hurt someone who begs for it. She brushes the corner of his lips with her thumb, just for the satisfaction of watching him jerk his head away from that gentle touch.

"No-" Blake chokes out in denial, but it isn't  _ stop _ . She raises an eyebrow at him, he tries to smile for her and she rewards him with a cruel thrust that makes his breath hitch in his throat.

“You are,” she continues softly, dragging her words against his skin like the point of a knife. “You’re  _ beautiful _ when you get what you think you want.” She shifts her body to reach something at his side and he whimpers, then chokes on the sound and turns it into something deeper. She rolls her hips to make him do it again, shows him what she picked up.

Joker eases the leather glove onto her left hand, the palm glittering with dozens of tiny, incredibly sharp spikes. She holds it above Blake’s face and raises an eyebrow. 

“Do you know what this is?” Blake frowns, weakly shaking his head. He tries another smile. She lays her hand gently on over his heart, rolling her palm and fingers down onto tender skin. He jerks like he’s been shot, and she rewards him with another wicked thrust. “You’re not difficult to figure out, Blake.” She lifts her hand, inspects the array of tiny scratches, red and painful looking. She drags soothing, ungloved fingers over the marks and Blake shudders for her beautifully.

She starts taking him apart. Harsh slaps with her bare skin, tender touches with her gloved hand. All the while rolling her hips slow, deep, fucking him like a tender lover.

“You think pain is uncomplicated, detective,” Joker says softly, “because it protects you from the other person.” She cups his cheek with the glove and presses in. He leans his cheek into her touch, as sweet as Harley. Joker smiles in triumph. “You’re not safe from me.”

Joker doesn’t know where all Blake’s anger comes from. She doesn’t particularly care. She knows he turns it inward, wraps himself in it, uses it as a shield against the world. She’s interested in peeling it off him, leaving him naked and shivering.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and all you have to say is  _ yes _ or  _ no. _ ” She lifts the glove again, strokes cool fingertips down the angry red skin of his cheek and makes him shudder. Presses in as deep as she can with her cock.

“Yes.” Blake says weakly, his eyes falling closed, lashes damp.

“If you ask them to hurt you first, it’s not a surprise when it happens.” 

“Yes.” Blake sighs, melting into a slow stroke of the glove, rewarded with white fire spreading down the side of his chest.

“You like pain because it feels good when it stops,” she emphasizes her statement, laying the bare palm of her hand against the scrapes and stilling her hips.

“Y-yes,” comes out as a shaky moan. She knows what that sound means, so reaches down and grabs the base of Blake’s cock tightly. He’s been on edge for a good long time, and she doesn’t want  _ anything _ happening unless she plans on it.

“Would you like it if it didn’t stop? If it kept going on and on?” Blake’s face twists in concentration and he struggles weakly against Harley’s grip on his wrists. Harley obliges him, tightening his hands, and Blake seems to ease back, breathing easier.

“...no.”

“No,” Joker responds softly. “Because then you wouldn’t be in control of it.”

“Yes,” the key fits neatly into the lock of Blake’s mind. It’s just a matter of choosing when to turn it.

“I  _ am _ going to keep hurting you, Blake. It won’t be a surprise when it happens. You’ll know it’s coming.” Blake smiles for her then, so sweet and open. He really is beautiful like this, and she laughs softly. “But you’re not in control of it anymore. You need to stop making  _ plans _ .” She pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, hard, and the look of exquisite pain and pleasure on his face makes her laugh louder.

“No, fuck, yes,  _ yes- _ ” Blake pleads as she squeezes tight around his cock and presses the spiked glove low on his stomach at the same time.

“Harley, would you like to have a turn with Blake?” Joker asks, soft and sweet above Blake’s body, and Blake rewards her with a full body shudder. His cock is slick with precome in her grip. Blake is red faced and trembling all over.

“Oh,  _ Mister J _ ,” Harley says, and his face lights up with surprise and interest. She’s taken enough time that Harley is more than eager for another round. He studies Blake, and his eyes go dark and wanting. “Yes, please.”

Joker cups Blake’s face with the spiked glove and presses in on his chin, hearing him gasp raggedly. She tilts his head this way and that, examining his features.

“Blake?”

“Y-yes?” Blake makes it a soft question, uncertain but willing. She waits for him to think it over. “Yeah,” he agrees. Harley releases his grip on Blake’s hand, Joker withdraws, flips Blake roughly to his stomach. Pulls him up to his knees by his hips. She runs the glove over his back slowly, swats the curve of his ass hard with her bare hand, enjoys the harsh cry it earns her. He sighs, relaxes into the new position. Joker peels the glove off and tosses it aside as she takes Harley’s place, pinning Blake’s hands flat to the floor, and smiles at him. She grinds his wrists into the rug.

“Be gentle with him, Harley. Go slow,” she instructs, with a cruel twist of her mouth. Blake shatters into helpless sobs.


	8. Chapter 8

Something in him breaks when he hears  _ gentle  _ and  _ slow  _ ordered from Joker to Harley. Blake’s coming apart at the seams, skin searing, face wet. Quinn is murmuring soothing nonsense against his shoulder and holding his hair tightly in one fist. He struggles because it seems like the thing to do, fighting tooth and nail against what will probably be one of the sweetest, most tender fucks of his life. Blake wants it, but he’s not going willingly, and Joker seems to understand because she’s grinning like she’s hearing the best joke of her life.

“Don’t make him force you, Blake.” She murmurs, tightening her grip on his wrists. Blake laughs around a sob and tugs at her iron grip until his shoulders ache. “Harley, give him space to breathe.” Blake tries to get his head clear and breathes slowly, chest catching at the top of every inhale. Quinn keeps his fist tight in his hair but otherwise backs off, and it’s helping, the pain grounding. Joker catches his eye, meets his gaze steadily. “Talk it through.”

“I can’t-” He pants. “I can’t, I can’t-” He’s shaking, can’t find the words, but the word  _ stop _ is the farthest thing from his mind.

“I know.” She says softly, eases the grip on his wrists so she can put a finger and thumb on his chin, bringing his face up roughly. “It would be  _ torture _ , wouldn’t it?” Blake hangs on those words and narrows his eyes slightly, uncertain but willing to be convinced. Her eyes are merciless.

“...yeah.” He eyes her warily, shifting his knees and clenching and relaxing his fists on the rug. He could stand up and walk out right now. She’s not holding him.

“You’re strong enough to stand up to a little torture, Detective,” Joker goads, one fingertip under his chin. “Look at you.” Blake wonders what he looks like. Naked, desperate, covered in marks and scratches, scrapes from that goddamn glove. Breaking at the thought of a gentle touch. He wets his lips and breathes slowly.

“Slow and gentle...torture,” he hesitates on the last word, drops his eyes. She lets his chin drop.

“Slow and gentle,” Joker agrees. “And you just have to kneel there and  _ take it _ , and know it’s what we want to do to you. As long as we want it to happen. Do you think you can be good for that?” Blake feels that coil of panic in his stomach again, but it’s a good kind of panic. The  _ oh-shit-there’s-two-more-guys  _ in an alley fight thought kind of panic.  _ Is my nose fucking broken _ panic. It comes with a hot spike of adrenaline.

“Yeah.  _ Fuck _ , yeah, alright. I’ll be good.” Blake doubles down, presses his forehead to the rug and moans softly in defeat. “I’ll be good.”

“Good boy.” Joker says, and he can hear the laughter in her voice as she slowly cards fingers through his hair. “Go ahead, Harley. Make him weep.”


	9. Chapter 9

Harley doesn’t understand Blake, but he understands how Joker works, and it’s enough. He’s not going to force himself on anyone. He waits while Joker talks Blake through whatever he’s struggling with, and Blake’s consent is firmly established by the time Harley gets his hands on him.

Blake’s back is smooth and untouched, except for the angry red print on his ass from Joker’s hand, and Harley trails light fingers over his skin. Blake makes a pained noise, more of a broken groan than he did when Joker was working him over with slaps and scrapes from the glove. When Harley runs his hands down Blake’s sides, Blake squirms and laughs nervously, high pitched. 

“...are you  _ ticklish _ ?” Harley asks with wonder and amusement, skimming his fingers lightly up Blake’s ribs again and hearing him bite back a giggle. “That’s pretty cute, Blake.”

“Fuck you, Quinn.” Blake spits back.

“When you’re ready,” Harley replies softly, moving his hands lower to the curve of Blake’s hips. Blake goes quiet and still. Harley doesn’t reach for the small bottle at the edge of the rug. Instead he holds Blake’s cheeks apart, rubs his thumb over his exposed hole carefully. Blake goes rigid and sucks in a sharp breath. “You look sore, sweetheart.” Blake shudders at the endearment. He’s still slick and open from Joker, but Harley isn’t interested in hurting Blake. He supposes he’s just as cruel as she is, in his own way.

“I’m fine, just do it,” Blake mutters, voice muffled by the carpet.

Harley flicks the cap of the bottle open and applies an over generous amount of slick to one fingertip, very slowly pressing in. It slides in easily to the first knuckle, no resistance at all. Harley treats him with care, as though it’s the first time, as though Joker hadn’t had four fingers spread wide, deep inside him less than an hour ago.

Blake  _ whimpers _ , almost pulls away from the touch. “Please-” He chokes out, and his voice is low and broken.

“Let me take care of you,” Harley murmurs gently, moving his finger tip in and out in slow, cautious strokes. “Just be good, Blake. I’m going easy. It’s not gonna hurt.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Blake gasps softly.

“You do this a lot?” Harley asks, letting his finger slide in deeper. 

“...what, fuck two clowns back to back on a warehouse floor? Not usually, but it was a slow week at the bars.” Blake’s words don’t have the cocky bite behind them from earlier, and sweat is starting to bead on his skin. Harley laughs and shakes his head.

“At home. You have a toy for when you get lonely? Or just your fingers.” Harley presses his finger down, stroking with careful pressure until- there. He hears the catch in Blake’s breath, sees the tremor in his legs. “You just open up so well for me, sweetheart. Can picture you at home taking care of yourself like this.”

“It’s not-  _ Fuck,  _ Quinn,  _ please- _ ” Blake’s voice breaks on the word and Harley glances at Joker, sees her approving smile and the smallest nod. “...not the same.”

“You still do, though. Still want someone to take good care of you,” Harley adds another finger, so carefully, to take the sting out of his words. “Someone to give you what you need.” Blake’s shoulders are shaking, and he’s making small, open-mouthed sounds. “There you go,” Harley breathes reverently, sinking his fingers in deep. “Just like that.” 

“I can’t-” Blake starts, and Harley slips his fingers out slowly, adds more lube, and Blake makes a low, pained noise. 

“Is that better?” Harley asks, and Blake shivers at the easy slide of a single finger back in, the obscene sound of slick skin moving over slick skin.

“ _ More _ , fuck,  _ please, _ I can take it, I can,  _ please _ , just-  _ more- _ ”

“I don’t want you to hurt tomorrow,” Harley says calmly. Joker wants him to torture Blake. Harley wants to give Joker everything she wants. “Shhh. You’re okay.” He relents and adds two more fingers, still torturously slow, but more of a stretch. “There you go,” Harley repeats, because those words seem to spear Blake more completely than anything he could do with his fingers or cock. “You’ll take me easy. Won’t hurt a bit.” Blake is crying with impatience and frustration now, and Harley runs a soothing hand down his spine. “Sure you’re ready?” 

Blake’s voice is wrecked when he says, “Yes,  _ please, Harley. _ ” Harley smiles and lines up his cock, sinking into Blake’s slick, easy warmth without a struggle. Blake keens softly and goes still, letting his head drop onto Joker’s hands where she’s holding his wrists.

“I like the way you call me Harley,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around Blake’s waist and resting a cheek between Blake’s shoulders. “Sounds nicer than Quinn.” Blake chants his name like a curse. “That hurt at all? Mister J went pretty hard on you. I’ve had that dick in my mouth, I know how big it is.”

“Doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t- feels good. Feels so  _ fucking  _ good, Christ Harley, you’re killing me-” 

“You like that I know what it feels like to get fucked by the same cock?” The words fall filthy and sweet from his mouth without effort. He never has to talk this much with Joker, and it’s nice to have the ability to form words. “Hurts so sweet when she drives in deep, like this.”

“Fuck, shut up for ten seconds and lemme come.”

“You can’t come yet, sweetheart. Not ‘til she says you can. You just be good.” Blake stiffens at his words and then groans, low and helpless.

“Fun to say his own words back to him, isn’t it?” Joker smiles sweetly at Harley, warm and loving.

“People show you what they like.” Harley pants, combing a hand through Blake’s hair and pulling it roughly. “Do you want to be told to be good, honey? You want sweet names and praise with a good, rough fuck?” 

“ _ Harley _ \- fuck- please, I’m- please-”

“You’re goddamn gorgeous,” Harley murmurs against the shell of Blake’s ear. “So sweet, so willing, so  _ good _ . You’re so fucking good,  _ honey. _ You just let go and let me take care of you.” Blake sobs under him and screams raggedly as he comes, jerking in Harley’s arms. “There you go. There you fucking go.” 


	10. Epilogue

Blake hadn’t been expecting a hot bath afterwards.

To be fair, what he had been expecting at the start of the night was a serious beating and being left in a dumpster, so the events following had already been a major improvement.

But he hadn’t expected curling up in a ball and sobbing after what was admittedly one of the most intense orgasms of his life, and he  _ definitely  _ hadn’t expected the fucking Joker to soothe him through it. The gentle words, careful touches, and a cold bottle of water had all come as a pleasant shock.

There were no demands or orders afterwards. A soft blanket had been fetched by Harley from  _ somewhere _ (god knew what the rest of the warehouse contained, and Blake wasn’t in any shape to ask). He’d been wrapped up and gently held, coaxed into breathing steadily and drinking the water. Shown as well as told that he was safe. And wasn’t that a bitch of a contradiction? He’d shown up to rescue Harley from Gotham’s clown ruler of crime, and he was the one being talked back into his body by both of them.

“What do you need now?” Joker had asked softly, gently running fingers through his hair and tugging occasionally after Blake had managed to mutter,  _ soft’s too much _ . Blake melted into the touch with a soft sigh, and finally noticed just what a fucking mess of smeared makeup and sticky, drying things he really was. 

“...ugh. I need to clean up, I think. And then...I dunno. A nap. I feel like I could sleep for years.” 

“We can do that,” Joker said softly, pressing a warm kiss to his temple. “How does starting with a hot bath sound?

* * *

Blake whistled softly at the size of the bathroom, the giant clawfoot tub big enough for three and the pristine white tile. “Crime really does pay, doesn’t it?” 

“One of the perks to being kept,” Harley laughed behind him, then turned on the tap, the tub filling quickly with steaming water. Harley slipped careful arms around Blake’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Blake’s shoulder. 

“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” Blake complained without feeling, leaning back into the hold. He didn’t realize how good it would feel to be broken and then put back together. “I’m good now.” 

“Yeah, I know. But it gives me an excuse to touch you.” 

“You don’t need an excuse, honey,” Blake sucked in a sharp breath when Harley’s hands grazed one of the scrapes on his hip. “...Christ, I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“You’re not sore now?” Blake could hear the smug smile in Harley’s voice.

“Fuck it, yeah, I’m sore now. My ass doesn’t know what hit it.” 

“The bath’ll help.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want help cleaning your face off?”

Blake looked at his face in the small mirror above the sink, then laughed at both his and Harley’s reflection. They were both covered in a smeared mess of makeup. “Shit, we both look terrible. I have no idea where to start.”

Harley steered him to sit on the lid of the toilet, pouring something from a small bottle onto a washcloth. “Here, tilt your face up. And close your eyes.” 

“Yessir Officer Quinn sir,” Blake grumbled good naturedly, tipping his chin up and closing his eyes. 

“You’re not one for calling anyone sir, Blake. You’re a goddamn brat.” Harley’s voice was full of warm amusement as he stroked the cloth slowly over Blake’s skin. The lotion smelled light and clean. 

“Someone’s gotta be. You’re just too good, all  _ please _ and  _ thank you _ and  _ oh that feels nice _ .” 

“We’re not playing anymore and I’m not gonna slap you if you mouth off, so knock that shit off and let me take care of you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Blake sighed softly, and Harley finished cleaning his face in the quiet that followed. 

“Tub’s ready,” Harley murmured, and Blake startled back to himself, realizing he’d dozed off under that gentle touch. 

Soon Blake was settled in, back against Harley’s bare chest, neck deep in hot water that had a light, herbal scent to it. “Feels nice.” He mumbled, tipping his head back against Harley’s shoulder.

“Thanks for coming to rescue me,” Harley whispered low in Blake’s ear, trailing soft kisses along his jawline.

“Some rescue,” Blake laughed, eyelids heavy.

“Yeah, it was.” Harley nipped sharply at Blake’s ear, drawing a sleepy gasp out of him. “Maybe next time I can rescue you.”

“...heh, I don’t...need rescuing from anything,” Blake sighed, feeling his muscles unknot in the warm water and his cock give a halfhearted twitch at the thought. “...don’t start anything honey, I’m in no shape to finish.”

“Mmm,” Harley made a low sound. “No harm in telling you a story though?”

“No, I like stories. We can figure out what we want to do next time,” the admission fell from his lips without his choice. Of course there’d be a next time. It felt silly to say otherwise. “...maybe you could kidnap me.”  _ Being surprised by Harley in a dark alleyway somewhere, a rough hand over his mouth, the command to just be good and quiet and nothing too bad would happen... _ yeah. Stories were good.

“Just me?”

“Well...you  _ could  _ bring me to Her.” Somehow,  _ Her _ had a capital H in front of it, and it just felt right. “...part of the...I dunno. Spoils of a heist.”

“What, dump you on a table in front of her with the rest of the loot?” Oh god, the shiver that sent up Blake’s spine.

“...fuck, maybe, yeah.” 

“So...you think you’d surprise some clowns in the alleyway behind a jewelry store...” Harley began, and Blake groaned softly and let his eyes stay closed.

Harley painted the picture, adjusting details as they went, until his tired body managed to be hard and aching again at the thought. Harley wrapped a hand tight around him, slick and easy, and murmured increasingly filthy ideas until Blake was arching, begging, and agreeing with almost everything he said.

He hoped he’d get that tip off about a jewelry store heist, and  _ soon _ .


End file.
